The Power of Guilt
by AuburnGraces28
Summary: Based around the aftermath of Hector's death after Briseis is set free. An exploration of the characters of Troy and their emotions particularly focusing on Achilles. A BriseisAchilles story.


All men felt guilt; it was a weakness which hindered even the strongest. Priam had seen many great warriors in his lifetime. He'd seen them die fighting and seen them live, glorified with their eyes blazed with victory. The best of warriors were trained not to feel fear, not to fear the enemy and not to fear death. But no man could hide from the guilt that spurned from war.

That flickering of guilt in Achilles eyes was immediately obvious. It was only there for a fraction of a second, but it let Priam know that he would have his son's body.

"I knew your father"

The warrior did not betray his feelings this time. His turned his eyes towards the walls of the hut and let them rest there. His jaw was set, his eyes staring at the distance ahead of him.

"He died before his time. But he was lucky not to live long enough to see his son fall."

The flicker was there again, only for a moment. A brief glimpse of humanity behind this armoured exterior. A flicker of guilt.

Priam continued to study this man, fascinated by what he had discovered. It was true that the warrior appeared even more magnificent up close, even in the dull interior of the hut. His skin seemed to gleam with power. His shoulders and arms were broad, his jaw line strong. The man appeared to have been created simply to fight, designed to kill. This man had killed his eldest son, and yet the king felt that no prince could have wished for a more glorious death. Achilles was of the finest of warriors.

"I cannot change what happened. It is the will of the gods. But give me this small mercy. I loved my boy from the moment he opened his eyes..."

He paused again. He felt no grief from talking about his son in this manner. Grief had already surpassed him; instead he felt a distinct, indescribable emotion. Hector had been a greater son than any man could ever wish for, and he had lived a magnificent life.

"Until the moment you closed them."

Achilles had turned towards him now. He was speaking, agreeing to what Priam wanted. His magnificent eyes were cold again; he was not going to betray any more weaknesses to this king. He was a guarded warrior once more.

It was only when he had stepped outside the hut that Achilles betrayed any emotion to himself. Hector was lying on his back, the bloodstained spear still protruding from his broken armour. His eyes were open, coated beneath dried blood and sand. His pupils fixated upon the night sky, as if barely aware of their owner's death. He was unrecognisable as the mighty prince who had led Troy's army just a day before.

The blood on his chest was still wet, and it stained the warrior's hands. Achilles could feel the blood seeping into his fingers, across the lines of his palms. He had seen a thousand men's blood in a hundred battles smeared across his hands; why should the Prince's blood be any different? Why should it stain him? Achilles began to weep. In his mind he recognised the absurdity of this situation. '_What are you doing?_' he asked himself, he hadn't cried since he was young boy. Yet the tears kept coming, filling his eyes and spilling down onto his cheeks. His face was soaked with his own guilt.

The emotion didn't last long, the warrior stood again. He lifted the blue cotton blanket across the prince's body and over his face. Hector had been a fine warrior. Achilles knew that he had been the best he'd ever fought. Most men were taken down with one strike; it was easy to tell their instincts and their weaknesses. Achilles knew how to find that fraction of a second when a man let his guard down, that was the moment when he struck. Hector had been difficult to understand, his eyes were fixed on victory. This man fought for his country and those who loved him dearly, his eyes never moved from what he wanted to achieve. Achilles had sensed only one weakness in Hector. This man was not afraid of death, but he was afraid for what would happen after death. What would happen to those who loved him if he was slain. That weakness was a sense of humanity and had caused him to falter in a way that only Achilles could sense.

Hector was by far the best Achilles had ever fought.

Priam exited the hut to return with Hector's body.

"In my country, the funeral games last for 12 days."

"It is the same in my country" the king replied. He saw that Achilles was granting them peace for a mourning period and was grateful for this noble act.

It was then he saw her, dark hair, slender limbs, her face still tearstained.

"Briseis?"

Priam took his niece in his arms and clasped her close with an overbearing feeling of relief. The girl had believed to be dead, killed when the soldiers had attacked the temple of Apollo. Hector had been devastated, blaming himself for not remembering her duties in the temple that day. He had claimed that he should have protected her and instead the Greeks had stolen a member of his dearest family.

Achilles watched this reunion of loved ones from the outside. He had seen pure joy on Briseis' face for the first time since she had been with him. She needed to be with her family at this time of grief. Her family could care for her far better than he ever could; he had barely cared for her when she was with him. He glanced at the scars on her wrists, the bruises around her neck, _He had caused them_. She turned back towards him her face was asking him the question, would he allow her freedom? He took her delicate body into him arms and held her. His face brushed against her hair as he inhaled her scent, her memory. She looked up at him, those dark orbs seeping though his emotional guards. She could sense his emotions; he couldn't hide them from her.

"You are free."

He pressed the shell necklace into her hand as she turned away. He would find her again.


End file.
